Stepping Back, finding forwards
by Find-me-in-the-forest
Summary: Annabelle is lost in the grief of her murdered family, finding comfort only in avenging them as the fearsome "Iron Maiden". Love and companionship may be the only way to cease the oblivion she faces but can the Basterds help her?  Shosanna Dieter & OC inc
1. Prologue: Calf skin

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

Prologue

21st February 1937

A velvet, black car drove up to the georgian terrace, lights off, engine silent. The night was bitter and laced with frost that stayed icy as the Gestapo officers stepped out onto the cobbled street. Each black leather boot squeaked ever so slightly, traces of blood muddying the shine. They had had a wonderful day. Like minions of death, they silently climbed the steps of house 5 to greet their leader and tell him of what they had done and like children hoped he would be proud. A small wrap at the door brought the frail, old butler Hirsch to the door who led the four into the crimson study illuminated by the great gaping fire casting spider web shadows all around. The four officers stood still, examining each wisp of darkness dance and move until an object in control of his own movement came to greet them.

"Dieter, my friend. Come now, you mustn't stand. Sit and have some milk with me. I'm sorry there is no coffee but at this time of night I'm afraid an espresso would really have me tossing and turning in my bed. A glass of milk however, will rest us both. Sit, sit! Now that your young friends here have safely accompanied you to my temporary home they may leave."

Dieter Hellstrom sat in a large armchair that grasped his body and forced him to sit up like some sort of dentistry chair. He waved off his other three companions ordering them to wait for him in the car. Colonel Hans Landa watched them exit before turning to smile at Dieter with dead black eyes.

"Now those oafs have gone, we may be able to have an intelligent conversation if today's exploits have not tired you out?"

"No Hans. As busy as we were, I'm sure I can keep up with you." Dieter flicked his eyes to the fire as if to absorb light before he was sucked back into the black holes that resonated from Hans' eye sockets.

"Ah good! Now tell me Dieter, what misfortune have you been bestowing on enemies of the state? I trust you did carry out my orders?" embers in the black of his eye shimmered. Anticipation.

"Yes sir. Lord Charles Moore and his family were... eradicated."

"Come Dieter. Do not spare me the details. We are both me are we not? Now please, enlighten me."

Dieter smiled back at Hans' grin. He shifted in the chair to release his body but its design kept him still so those eyes could bare into him even further.

"We arrived at his apartment not long after six O' clock. It had already got dark so we were able to catch them all unaware. Richter went through the back way with Schultz and Walter broke down the front door. I followed him to the living room where Moore's slut sat..."

"Emily. Emily Moore, Major" Hans corrected confusing Dieter for a moment. "Continue."

"Walter shot Mrs. Moore in the face and she fell. Her son ran towards me out of the kitchen wielding a knife and I shot him. Meanwhile, Richter and Walter had dragged Charles from his bed and presented him to me."

"Did he beg for life? Did he cry when he saw his dead wife and son?"

"No sir. He was silent and stern. He only said one thing" Dieter cast his eyes to the fire once more.

"which was Major?"

"Long live the king."

Hans began to laugh violently almost choking. He wiped tears from his face as he composed himself, watching Dieter's awkward expression created by this fit of laughter. The fire cracked loudly and like he would a dog, Hans tossed it another log to feed on.

"I apologise Dieter. Your story is so matter-of-fact and that ridiculous insert from Lord Moore really tickles me. Isn't it funny how when all is lost he does not think of his children but of a country that has failed him? You were saying."

"I shot him once in the head sir."

"and what of the girl? Annabelle is it?"

Dieter paused. He was uncomfortable being rigid for so long. His leather boots were hot from the fire and the smell of calf skin turned his stomach as he explained how after he had raped her, Annabelle Moore had smashed a china lamp over his head and run for her life. It was too dark for them to hunt her down but she was only a girl. A petite seventeen year old with no papers and obvious English accent could never disguise herself even when speaking fluent French.

"Well Dieter, I should have guessed you would ultimately act on your primal instincts but on a positive note, the Lord is dead which is what the Führer intended and the British government will know to fear us Germans. As for Annabelle, she will be caught and killed, even if I have to carry out the deed myself. Now if you do not mind Major, I will retire to bed."

"Goodnight sir" The chair released him with a reluctant pull. "Heil Hitler."

Hans waved him off not returning the salute bringing his glass of milk to thirsty lips.


	2. Chapter 1: Lost, seeking, finding

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

Glossary: Battojutsu - The art of using the Katana

Katana: Samurai Sword

Chapter 1

9th of April 1942

It was surprising to Annabelle at how two years and seven months of war could change a country. France was a shell that had been smashed beneath the feet of every Nazi soldier that had marched across it. Towns that were still intact were infested with Nazi officers that created a cold that chilled even the hardest of bones, even in summer. As she lay on the wet undergrowth of the frail old forest she thought of her chateaux in Brittany with its white walls and ancient wisteria; her mother pruning the Jasmine, little George tugging her dress pestering her about his twelfth birthday. Her father would have been on his way back from the French embassy. He stayed there for days conversing about the white hot drive of Hitler and how he was fast becoming a threat. Annabelle thought of Major Hellstrom. She did not want to but his face was burned into her mind and thus she became more hateful every day. Alone and isolated Annabelle was only a shadow of who she was before; no longer a lady but a warrior thirsty for blood who had been trained in the art of Battojutsu in Japan and wielded a black handled, Katana with gold lettering glowing as it hung on her belt. After the massacre of her family, Annabelle fled to Japan in search of Hayato Tanaka her father's old friend from his travelling days. He lived on the third highest peak of mount Haguro where he taught Battojutsu to any who he deemed worthy and on hearing Annabelle's story he harnessed her fear and grief and used it to transform her into a Samurai master. She stroked the ebony case of the sword and imagined herself laying under a sugi tree. Coming back to France was not out of choice but as war raged between Japan and China she knew that it was time for her to return. Hayato had kissed her forehead before she went telling her she did not need luck as she was his greatest student, a prodigy anger in true form and oh she felt like anger personified. Her blood was a boiling acid that exploded with adrenalin when she struck her sword through buttery Nazi flesh. Her body was a hard, hot mass. She was death. Being alone for so many years had left her feeling like a ghost. She new no more about herself than a stranger would so revenge was all she lived for as that was the only thing she was certain of.

~.~.~

Lieutenant Aldo Raine breathed in a deep breath of smoke frilled air. He and the Basterds looked out over a wasteland of rubble and dust. They had been dropped five miles from what was believed to be a Nazi camp and their first target. flags bearing the Swastika were strewn on the floor. They spat at them, loathing them. They hungered for a massacre as they walked the skeletal maze that was once a happy market town. Sanity was now a luxury and when death does nothing but rear his ugly head, blood is all we lust for. Aldo looked at his companions whom he did not know or love but each was like a son that he would be able to mould to fit his plan of becoming the most feared and indestructible force in Europe. Each of the men had his own talent, his own spark that made him dangerous. They laughed and joked genuinely, something Aldo himself had lost the ability to do. He felt the scar on his neck that held tight like a rope, glaring at him every time he saw his reflection. Only Aldo knew what it was like to stare death in the face and defeat him, only Aldo knew true fear and only Aldo knew how to destroy it. By the end of the war all of those boys would be like him and he would become God.

~.~.~

Shosanna was weak and alone. She looked as if every tree had purposefully taken a swing at her, tearing her beautiful face to shreads, her feet bleeding and her body bruised. Paris was a sleazy mess of German soldiers that fucked girls who were all too willing to give themselves up to them. Alcohol and piss flowed down the once white streets biting each cut, infecting her humanity. The blood of her mother still clung in her hair, matting it together so she was more russet than blonde. Her journey had been hard and perilous and the glimmer of hope she thought Paris was began to dim as the dirt muddied its once glorious appearance. Each step pained her further. The fire in her was burning out. Step. Nausea. Step. Pain. Step. Collapse... Shosanna welcomed Death. The ice of his breath eased her. She felt him wrap his arms around her and lift her from the ground. His black face and eyes were as soothing as night and she flew and slept and was at peace.

When Shosanna woke, white sunshine poured through the open window and a smell of wood filled the air reminding her of the barns at home. She must be in heaven. Her body was clean and her clothes dry and soft. A gentle woman sat beside her combing her golden locks.

"Ah, she awakens! Come Jean, look at her. Don't look so startled chicken. You are safe now. I am Ada Mimieux and this is my husband Jean-Pierre."

Ada beamed at her. Her eyes framed with lines making her look kind and cheerful. Her hair was much like Shosanna's own - Dark blonde with a soft wave.

"We thought you would not make it. If it wasn't for Marcel finding you, it would have been Death that would have had you or worse, a soldier. Marcel!" said Jean "Come here right away. The lady is awake."

A young black boy came through the door swiftly. He looked about the same age as Shosanna but in contrast to her delicate frame he was broad across the shoulders with a soft face. It had been the first time Shosanna had seen a person of such dark skin and was in awe of his handsome features and great height.

"Marcel has not left your side until now my dear and you had the cheek to wake just as he left to eat his supper! How funny the world is."

Ada smiled again when she saw Marcel's eye flit downwards in embarrassment and yet he twisted his hands like a young boy who has discovered his first love.

"I thank you Madame" Her voice was gruff and sore. "I will repay you..."

"Nonsense!" They all chuckled "You will stay with us. Jean and I always wanted a daughter. Besides, Marcel has already taken a shine to you."

"Ada..." Marcel shifted his feet nervously.

Shosanna smiled for the first time in a year. A genuine warming glow flushed through the sadness and dark. There was hope for her and she knew it.


	3. Chapter 2: Heat

**Disclaimer**: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

**Glossary: **Iron Maiden - a Medieval torture device made up of a coffin like shape with a space for the head with knives or spike lining the inside. On entering and shutting the device, the inhabiter would be pierced hundreds of times and killed.

29th of August 1942

Dieter sat in the stuffy tavern that was filled with warm evening light. He could not understand how a room could feel so musty and wet when outside was basking in the beautiful, dry August sun. Richter was getting fat. His coat bulged his navel and sweat beaded upon his greasy brow. Every slurp of beer he took put Dieter off his own. With annoyance he glanced at his watch. They were late. He felt so superior to his team, not only in rank but in stature and mind. He liked the way that when he was with Hans, conversation presented itself as being a challenge. It had been a particularly boring day as he was only dealing with formalities and running errands rather than killing or frightening people. He had not had the company of a woman in a long while either which made the mess of Richter intensify.

"Schultz, Walter! You are here. Misery there has not made much company." Richter jested.

"No change Richter, no change." said Walter.

"Please Schultz, make some sense and tell me what you brought us here for. Neither Richter or Walter are getting anywhere."

Schultz looked like a silly child. He had news of some sort that dieter thought would be no interest to him. He almost did not come to this gathering.

"Now look here boys, what I have heard is that there is somebody going around the woods killing large numbers of Nazi soldiers. Just slicing them up like they were wieners..."

"If you are talking about Aldo the Apache and his Jewish basterds then all of us already know you blithering time waster."

"No, no, no Dieter. It is a woman. Some sort of phantom. A witch and they are calling her the Iron Maiden."

"Like the torturing device?" Richer leaned forward forcing his sour stench to enter Dieter's nostrils.

"Yes, that medieval design. She wields a great sword of Japanese origin and throws sharpened swastikas at her targets."

"Sounds like a lot of rubbish Schultz. A woman? It could never be a woman if this 'Phantom' existed anyway."

"ah but Dieter there is a survivor. His name is Hermann Lister. He said he believed her to be Death itself because of how fast she killed them."

Dieter got up from the table. He needed to speak to Hans. If what Schultz had said was true then certainly the needed to find this 'Hermann Lister'. As he opened the door the clean air was overwhelming and the light stung him. He headed for the phone.

~.~.~

A desolate forest became the favourite place of Aldo's to catch his prey. He and the Basterds could hide behind the skinny trees as the two trucks rumbled by. Sergeant Donny Donowitz aimed his shot gun at the driver of the first van. A blinding sound shattered his ear drums, the bullet the driver's skull. Corporal Wilhelm Wicki pulled a startled captain from the other side of the van - brain and blood still sliding from his face - whilst the others took care of the other soldiers in the only way they knew how.

"Hirschberg, Utivich. Search those trucks" Aldo watched them as he beckoned Wicki to bring the Captain over to him.

"There's Jews in here sir. Lots of 'em." Utivich said. "Both trucks"

Aldo turned to the Captain and smirked with his eye brows low.

"Well 'aint we been a busy boy huh el Capitano?"

Donny came to Aldo's side peering over his shoulder like a devil challenging a conscience. His eyes were wide and wet, black with rage and red from strain.

"Let me do it sir. I wanna do it."

"Now hold on to that horse O' yours Donny. We need to ask this son of a bitch some questions. You sit your ass down over there on that rock."

He nodded his head over to the boulder in question, still piercing the eyes of a man condemned to die. Donny watched each Jew flee the trucks, man, woman and child. Some nodded, some waved, some just ran. His hands were growing numb where he was squeezing them so tight. Thirty at the very least must have escaped. All were doomed to die and would still if they were caught. Aldo interrogated the Captain knowing that it didn't matter whether he told them everything he knew, Donny would still beat him to death with his bat because all of the boys had seen the captain's intentions and for that he must die.

"Well Captain, see you in hell. Donny..."

The Basterds cheered and gathered around the Captain hungry for the brutality of what Donny was about to do. He gripped his baseball bat in his huge hands, biceps flexing and pulsing beneath his thick olive skin. His brow was low and eyes full of fire. He spat at the Captain's knee then swung hitting him on the arm, shattering the bone and squashing the flesh like putty. The Captain screamed in pain but uttered "Heil Hitler" in amidst the noise so Donny broke his other arm, then his legs. At each strike the Basterds drew in short, sharp breaths swallowing their adrenalin and regurgitating as Donny raised his arm for another swing. His head went last; a pink-red slurry of skull and tissue. Donny threw the bat to the ground and walked thirty feet out into the trees. The Basterds cheered no more but were silent watching the thick, red matter, ooze from the jellied body.

"Now, lets get outta here. Don't stand there boys, you know the drill. Scalps, valuables and weapons."

"Sir look at this." Wicki handed him a newspaper from the captain's jacket.

"Wicki I can't read this shit. Who is that?" He stared at the man's face on the front page.

"It's Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz sir. This article says he's killed all those Gestapo officers and they are taking him to Berlin for life imprisonment."

"Boys. We're off to collect this Stiglitz fella. Donny Getcha ass over here we're leaving."

Another German speaking Basterd would benefit them hugely. Aldo knew this and with a short fuse and psychotic mind like Stiglitz had, the Basterds would become an indestructable force.


	4. Chapter 3: The Iron Maiden

**Disclaimer**: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

5th September 1942

Dieter shuffled his feet impatiently as he waited for Hans under a flickering street lamp. His leather boots squeaked at him, mocking him. He remembered the calf smell at Hans' house and then the stench of Richter and felt sick. A black Gestapo vehicle pulled up along side him and from the time it took for him to get out of the car, Dieter had already guessed it was Hans.

"Hello Dieter, what a wonderful night for an interrogation hmm? I bet you are glad I came."

"Of course, your skill is incomparable"

"After you."

Hans signaled to the house beside Dieter urging him to knock the door. Dieter gave it a few punches before a skinny private about twenty years old came to the door. He looked at Dieter with surprise, startled by his rank then almost jumped when he saw the colonel.

"My boy! Do not look so frightened. We are simply here to ask you about that bit of nastiness you experience you had in the forest last week. May we come in?"

"Yes Colonel, Major, right this way. I am sorry for the mess. Please sit. Would you like a drink?"

"No." Dieter said

"Tell us Hermann. What was it that happened in the forest?"

Hermann paused as if to think for a moment. Hans thought him a simpleton by the way he tipped his head and bit his lip.

"My squad was in the west of the forest that is about a mile from here. We were cutting through to get to a town suspected to have clusters of Jews hiding out. We made up camp and I left to get water. I was away for five minutes."

There was a look of clear distress on Hermann's face along with a clear look of amusement on Hans'.

"Keep Going."

"I heard a single gun shot and ran back. I wasn't armed so when I saw her standing over their bodies... her back to me... I had to retreat sir. I had to."

"Well yes, definitely. Now describe to me her appearance."

"I saw her briefly from the back. She was small. About five and a half feet, slender. She wore a dark green jacket with the English flag sewn on the back and she held a long sword that curved round at the end. Her hair was dark, waist length and had a curl. I barely saw her face but I would say she was twenty one, maybe two." His eyes fell to his wringing hands.

"Who have you told about this Hermann?" said Landa.

"Everyone who has asked sir."

"Come Dieter. Hermann, that is all."

Hans and Dieter stood together and walked out of the house leaving Hermann worrying about what should become of him. Hans planned his visit to Gobbels - propaganda minister to discuss how he would down play this phantom lady's reputation. With the basterds on the loose, there was only so much the Fuhrer would stand for especially when this new threat was woman. Hans had a good inclination of who she was and would use this to aid her capture. The George cross, her age, her appearance was too coincidental to remain coincidence. Dieter were none the wiser and Hans knew it; this was why he was the colonel and Dieter remained major. So Hans found himself in the place he loved most: at the beginning of an investigation and like a hawk, would be relentless.


	5. Chapter 4: Reputations

**Disclaimer**: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

15th September 1942

Annabelle brought her cupped hands to her face and splashed the ice water over her eyes and neck. The water dripped pink and brown where blood and dirt fell from her face. She did not seem to have a reflection, At least a reflection is not what she saw. All that was there was a face staring back at her, a separate entity and a ghost. She ever so lonely and the longer she remained alone, the less of a person she became as she watched her soul being sucked into oblivion. The killing of nazis was all she lived for but what would she do once she had killed Dieter? She had no friends or family that she could call on to be with her when the war ended. A part of her wished for the Germans to win the war so she could carry on fighting but disgusted at this fantasy she hit the wall, bloodying her knuckles. Annabelle took up a hair brush she had found in one room of the house and watched the reflection comb the long brown hair. Se believed if she watched it for long enough her former self would come rushing back and so would her aspirations of becoming wife or a lady. No, that part of her was gone. The thought of being a mother of many, having nothing but cleaning to do sickened her. She hated the way she used to be but felt so alienated from the person she has become because she has allowed herself to manifest from anger. She began to practise her French uttering strings of words, letting them roll out over her tongue. She always passed for a French girl. Her favourite attack was when she was dressed as someone else. Like a spider she would charm soldiers with her eloquent French speech and yielding facade before slicing them limb from limb breathing in the vapours of their blood and fear. She began to speak again but was stopped by an unfamiliar noise coming from the front door. It was rats. The place was shivering with rats. This time heavier sound, a splintering of wood and muffled voices sounded. Her heart was in her throat as she slipped behind the door becoming a spider. They would have to come to her. Footsteps resonated throughout the house as someone searched it. There must have been four of them, five, no seven. Annabelle had slaughtered more than seven before. Feet shuffled just outside the door as a man cautiously waved his gun into every crevice of the room apart from behind the door. As soon as he had his back to her, Annabelle sprung from her hiding place, pulled his arms back and held a dagger to his neck. He let out a short shout in shock, loud enough for the other men to race up into the room where they were. Six of them pilled in. They were not in Nazi uniforms and they did not look German or French.

"Wer bist du?" There was no answer. "Qui êtes-vous?" She shouted louder.

"Now why don't we all calm down huh? yo'kay Omar?" A mousy brown haired man stepped forward. He had a horrid scar on his neck from a near beheading it looked like. Omar's eyes flickered nervously.

"You're American?" Annabelle loosened her grip on the man she held.

"Apart from our friend Stilt here, yes we are. And I'm guessing British?" The tension began to release after the identification of allys.

"Yes. But who are you?"

"I'm Aldo the Apache and these are the basterds." They all smirked.

Annabelle released the man from her grip who almost fell to the floor.

"Jesus sir. You should have said sooner or I could have taken is head off."

She began to gather up her things from around the room and walked passed them heading for the exit. The Basterds looked at each other questioningly as she so confidently walked away.

"hold on a second missy. I'm not done with you. Who the fuck are ya and what're doing in France?"

Annabelle turned to her interrogator and then looked at the rest of the Basterds. She noticed Hugo Stilt standing amongst them. He was infamous amongst the German army and she was glad to see him with a squad that appreciated his talents. Her gaze then fell on a tall, heavily built man who held an old baseball bat in his right hand. This must have been the one they call the bear Jew. Omar was the one she had held, Utivich - the man the Germans had so unflatteringly named "The little man", and Hirschberg a cruel looking soldier. The last spoke to Stilt in German revealing himself as Wilelm Wicki. All of them, save Aldo and Stilt had jet black hair and eyes which made them look brotherly and even more sinister.

"My name is Annabelle Moore and I am here avenging my family who were brutally killed by Nazis five years ago."

"Annabelle Moore?" Hugo stared. "The Iron Maiden?"

"Yes. That is my nick name the Germans have given me."

Aldo asked Stilt about what he was speaking and Hugo, to the discomfort of Annabelle, described every rumour he had heard while being enlisted in the army. She was forced to listen to and remember all that she had done feeling the warrior inside her writhe in pleasure at every compliment. Aldo listened intently. They all listened but Annabelle just focused on a spot on the ground that was rough and cream coloured. She wondered if it was wax from a candle that the previous owner had dropped there before she was captured. Was there no fire? Her eyes drifted towards the wall but no black was seen from fire At least but instead the black of mould.

"Agreed then? Yes, Annabelle, your talents seem a little wasted just going around by yourself so we thought you could become part of a more organised establishment. How about it?"

Annabelle felt their gaze upon her but she did not meet it. Her plan was so direct. She wanted Dieter, no one else and it was certain she would be able to kill him on her own. The basterds wondered why she was so hesitant and those few minutes they waited lasted a hour it seemed. Yes, she was lonely but Annabelle could not see them as the ones to cease that loneliness but someone is better than no one especially as alone, she had to live with herself. Her mind was settled and she agreed to be one of Aldo's basterds. Aldo saw her as the final piece of his team. She was fluent in French and being female, could perform the role of the temptress or the vulnerable damsel.

"I will accept this offer on one condition Lieutenant."

"That being?"

"That you treat me exactly the way you would treat those boys. You shout at them, you shout at me. You swear at them, you swear at me. You hit them... You hit me ok?"

"Don't you worry about that sweety. I will."


	6. Chapter 5: Unconditional

**Disclaimer**: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

15th September 1942

Shosanna rubbed her finger tips together feeling the roughness they had developed over the short time she had been operating the projectors. She had already learned how to run an entire film without a gap or mistake whilst eating cake and drinking coffee with Marcel. Marcel had stood by her side every second making sure she made not one slip or late transition. His puppy love had subsided and instead harboured a genuine affection for her deep in his heart which would stay with him whether it was returned or not. This however, was likely for Shosanna saw in Marcel all hope in the world and to see him, touch him, talk to him breathed new life into her soul every day. The curse of her family and the anger she felt dissolved in every minute she was with him. He taught her how to think like a woman, not because he was man but because he was a friend. All she could tell from the future was that he would be part of hers because their love for eachother was not made up of the sneaking into corners sharing a lustful kiss or telling eachother how beautiful they were. Their love was the deep water that ran beneath the earth, an undying bond solidifying their happiness. They would find comfort in just being in the same room showing films together, eating their meals, such trivial things that most people in the world took for granted. They filmed each other on the old cameras in the attic, playing like children acting out Macbeth over and over until Shosanna became the lady dying in madness and he Macduff, conquering all the evil in the world. They destroyed the hate that so many posessed for both of them. Marcel's rich skin was seen as something disgusting and wrong as if he had chosen to be different, purposely trying to offend those above him. She was a Jew as gentle as a butterfly and as kind as a saint but head strong like the Fuhrer himself. What ever did they do to deserve the punishment of alienation and even death? In a world so beautiful and rich, they could not understand why it could not be shared. Ada and Jean-Pierre watched them blissfully admiring their devotion to the other. Like light and dark, they needed eachother to survive. No sun without moon or earth without stars. The way they moved held some force of gravity that kept them together, magnetised.

They fought over silly things like who should have to box the films and who might sweep the theatre. Marcel would throw his hands into the air, his speech sarcastic and sharp. Sweat would bead upon his skin with frustration because Shosanna was relentless. She had an inability to back down when her mood took her to these violent places and it was only Marcel that could bring it out in her. The gentle Shosanna was a mouse inside her that hid from the raging bull that Marcell unleashed. She purged everything she had onto him and he always gave into her. He spoiled her with his devotion as she unknowingly manipulated his words to bend her way but if he cried she would melt back into her timid self. The two had such a physical effect on one another that no arguement could ever break their bond. That however, only intensified their fights as the knew nothing would really change. Of course many a time Ada would threaten to cast them both out if they shouted so loudly again only to make them laugh as the slunk back into the projection room to make fun of Ada's triple lined brow and thick bottom lip that jutted in her anger. They never confessed to eachother how they felt at first because both knew the pain of loss and could never make what they had real for fear of losing eachother but words are not needed when you are able to stare into the eyes of someone annd feel their soul hold your own by the hand and watch them dance together to the sweet music of silence. To be able to look into another's eyes and feel no awkward repel, sitting in silence just waiting for a blink to start the music all over again. No, Marcel and Shosanna did not need to confess their love to anyone, least of all themselves as it took true form in plain sight in the attic, the projection room in their dreams.

Ada named Shosanna Emmanuelle after her sister who had died at birth. A silent baby with white wisps of hair lost its life in her mother's arms and Shosanna being so deathly quiet most of the day haunted Ada but caused her to bond with her. Ada would often call Shosanna, Emmanuelle despite Shosanna's discomfort as it made her feel trapped and reminded her of being a fugitive but she let Ada none the less as she needed the fantasy of having a sister to keep her from crying and grieving over and over. Jean-Pierre bought Shosanna many trinkets; little horses made of wood, thimbles painted white, bells and ribbons that Shosanna fashioned into chimes that glistened in the light. Sometimes he would hold her tightly for minutes at a time, crying into her hair whispering songs of battlembering his time in the trenches of the Great War. Shosanna was not upset by this but related to his troubled mind holding him tighter at every sob as if to try to squeeze out all of the hurt thier bodies had become so waterlogged with. The fit together as a perfect family, old and young, black and white, Jew and Christian. They represented what the world could be resonating the golden glow of contentment.


	7. Chapter 6: Accusations

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

16th September 1942

Aldo awoke to the soft chattering noise of birds outside the peeling window. He could hear the low rumble of someone snoring from the next room and saw that the bed beside him was empty. Annabelle had probably moved to sleep somewhere else during the night as Aldo himself was not the quietest of sleepers. On deciding the sleeping arrangements for that night, Annabelle had insisted she stay in the same room as Aldo as he was the furthest from her own age - she being twenty one and forty two - and posed less risk of sordid speculation. As well as this, Aldo had come away to war from a marriage with a woman whom he had known most of his life and had six children, one being close to Annabelle's age but this information was not the sort he divulged to the rest of the Basterds because he only wanted to be seen as a leader, not a father or friend. Aldo had already noticed the boys staring at her which irritated him a little as he did not want her to become some sort of distraction but reassured himself that they would get used to her soon enough. She seemed rather cold anyway, never meeting an eye for too long or smiling for real. As Aldo wondered about why she was like this, he resolved in himself he would question her, make her tell him her story. It was important to him to know everything about his Basterd's life so he could psychoanalyse their every action, never misinterpreting or misjudging them.

He slid out of the dirty, stained bed and slipped on his shirt over the elasticated vest he wore. While the others were asleep he would seek out Annabelle and question her about her life before the war. When there was no sign of her downstairs, Aldo looked into where the boys slept suspecting she was a little more lustful than she let on but there was no sign. Most of her belongings were still there but her sword was not. Aldo fast came to the conclusion that she had gone out hunting for Nazis alone which sent him into a rage. He ran to where Donny and Omar lay, kicked them awake to their annoyance then did the same to all of the others.

"What is it Lieutenant? What the fuck is going on?" said Hirschberg croaking, wiping his eyes.

"That fucking arrogant bitch has gone out alone to hunt Nazis."

"You sure she 'aint here?"

"Yes I am sure Donowitz. She's taken her fucking sword."

Hugo shouted something profane in German whilst kicking a cupboard so its doors collapsed inwards. He felt the sting of betrayal more than the rest because it was he who had raved about her reputation and the value of her becoming a member.

"Let's just wait for her. She'll be back and we can ask her what she is playing at." said Wicki.

And so they sat in the kitchen at the long oak table waiting for hours. For the most part of this time they took it upon themselves to talk about her viciously making fun of the way she gravitated to Aldo like some lost child and was obviously mad because she couldn't seem to laugh.

"Have you noticed the way she flexes her hands?" asked Utivich "She sat there for an hour yesterday just opening and shutting them. Staring at them. Was a bit freaky."

They all laughed at this and watched Donny perform some exaggerated impression of her. They could not understand how a girl of her age did not want to come over and talk with them, laugh with them and flirt with them as all of the Basterds believed themselves to be such amiable suitors because of their status in the army. As Stiglitz was in the middle of pondering why she even got into this line of work in the first place, the door sounded sending all the Basterds to their feet, all of them, including Aldo rushing to the disturbance. Annabelle stood with her sword hanging from her belt, pushing a wheel barrow with two large potato sacks within it. She stared at them silently confused at why her return was so maliciously received.

"What we are is a team missy and if you think you can go off doing your own thing then your wrong." said Aldo.

Annabelle's face grew black as thunder and her blood raced around her body kicking momentum into her legs. She stamped away up the stairs and slammed the door causing a small amount of rubble to fall from the ceiling. Omar took the initiative to study what was in the bags and found that one was filled with food. There was at least four loaves of bread, a large hunk of cheese, apples of a lime green and four large bottles of whisky. She had managed to obtain a canister of water along with some tins of sardines. The other bag was packed with guns and artillery, grenades, knives and other types of weaponry including belts and bags needed to carry such things. The others looked at the stash in dismay unsure of what to do, guilt slowly creeping into their bodies after all they had said about her.

"Well someone has to go up and see if she is okay." said Omar

"Utivich." Aldo nodded towards the stairs."

"Why me?"

"Because you are the softest of us all" Donny snorted.

"Fuck you Donald." Donny launched at him causing Utivich to jump back.

"Utivich just get up there. The rest o' ya, get this stuff where it belongs." said Aldo.

The Basterds reluctantly collected up the spilled treasures and carried them to the kitchen whilst Utivich, just as unwillingly huffed up to where Annabelle sat; knees tight to her chest. She flicked her eyes to him without so much as a stir from her head like a caged animal would to her cruel owner.

"Hey, um... Thanks for the food and all." He gripped the back of his neck in discomfort. "None of us were pissed about you leaving. I mean, less Nazis mean an easier job for everyone right?" He said lying through his teeth. "But that wasn't what you were doing anyway so..."

Annabelle stayed silent, still overwhelmed with anger. Utivich moved closer and sat on the opposite side of the bed trying to catch her eye.

"The thing is see: Aldo has trust issues you know? We all do 'cause who can you trust in a war?" His awkward questions frittered from his mouth making no progress what so ever.

"I'm kinda glad there is a lady around. Not to cook or anything." He laughed nervously "but to talk to. You don't seem much of a talker though."

Utivich sighed. He had tried his best but at home he hadn't really been good with girls and their feelings. At only twenty five there was so much he needed to learn from her and he wanted her friendship so badly. Defeated, Utivich got up slowly and headed for the door only for Annabelle's pride to deteriorate as she whispered a quiet "Wait." He turned and sat beside her, her face melancholy.

"I as used to be a talker but being on your own for so long, you kind of forget how to do it." Her eyes were empty. "All I feel is anger, it's destroying me. That's why I was so glad that you guys came along because I thought if someone was around I could feel like a person again. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardise that, let alone undermine any of you."

The guilt now was stinging Utivich so badly that he almost broke down and cried. This woman was more damaged than she had initially let on and seeing so little within her eyes made her seem dead and haunting.

"Come downstairs. Us Basterds can make good company when we want to and that food 'aint gonna last long."

She smiled at him spontaneously which took her by surprise. A flood of warmth cascaded through her body sparking a few embers within her she had thought long burned out. They both made their way down the collapsing stairs towards a confident Aldo at the bottom.

"Well done sweetheart. You got her down." Aldo said to Utivich who by now was already storming off to the kitchen at that comment. "Thanks for the stuff Belle. Just tell us when you go out next time?"

Annabelle's father called her Belle and with this fatherly order she could not help but feel a little amused. On walking into the kitchen, the Basterds stopped their cattle like grazing and began to eat as a gentlemen should causing Annabelle to start getting a little peeved once more.

"Please boys. Hang up those airs and graces and eat like a Basterd."

"I don't need telling twice." Said Donny, casually stuffing his face once more and the others soon followed.

Ravenously, Annabelle shovelled the bread into her mouth realising how hungry she actually was - after all she had been foraging all morning, sneaking in and out of trucks on their way to the Fuhrer. The whisky flowed quickly from bottle to stomach producing a merry bunch of men all in need of some fun. Annabelle left them with the luxuries she had provided, sneaking up to bed with a lullaby of contentment lulling her to sleep from the floor below.


	8. Chapter 7: Learning to Tie Knots

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This chapter was a little delayed because of a serious case of writers block. However, I am determined to finish!

17th September 1942

Annabelle sat by the flaking window looking out over a ghostly part of Paris, empty of any living being. She could see from her high spot, the sunrise that burned orange and yellow as the sun uncurled its fingers over the desolate cityscape. The light shimmered over the silken dressing gown she had found in the cupboard, a fine item for a lady of her breeding although a lady is not what she was anymore. The silence was only broken by that of the Basterds snoring away in soft purrs and sometimes as loud as a hog. She crept down the groaning stairs as quietly as they would allow and into the living room where Aldo sat admiring the same view from a level below. Annabelle kicked her feet so he expected her approach; he turned his head slowly, a cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth.

"Ah you are awake! Them boys won't wake for nothing, not even Nazis." Aldo said loudly. "Now sit your ass down here and talk to me about why a girl like you has found herself in the war."

She looks at Aldo apprehensively coming no closer than two meters. He impatiently slaps the window seat which coughs out dust as he does so. Annabelle slowly and silently edges towards him, sinking into the mouldy cushion. He stares out of the window only ever shifting his eyes towards her, never moving his head.

"Now, enlighten me."

"Sir, I really don't think this is necessary. After all, everyone is angry about the war."

"Look Moore, if you're gonna be on my team I need to know about you. I'm not about to play Chinese whispers with the news papers. Tell me." His voice was rough like a cat's tongue.

After a pause and a nervous flex of her hands Annabelle knew she was obliged to tell Aldo her reasoning for the Iron Maiden and really, she wanted to tell him everything.

"I was born in London, England in a beautiful place called Richmond. My Father was Lord Charles Moore, my Mother Emily and my Brother George. We had a house in Brittany, France where we stayed when my Father was corresponding with officials in Paris. I wasn't really sure what his occupation was but all I know was that he was some sort of political figure. He had come back from a long trip in Paris. I always missed him because he never really had time for us as much as he wanted to. We had a small party for his arrival before I went to bed and my Father loved it. My mother stayed up with my little brother who was too excited to sleep, my Father in bed, resting from his long journey. It must have been mid night when they came. There were four. They shot my mother and my brother, dragged my poor father down the stairs and shot him too."

She winced as she described the event for the first time since she had been in Japan. Aldo still kept his eyes on the window. The sun had now shrunk in size and turned white, illuminating their desolate setting in full. Annabelle knew what the next question would be and she juggled between truth and lies for the answer.

"and how did you get away?" bingo.

"I looked over the banister and saw them all dead. So I ran. None of them saw me. I just ran."

She had held back at the last moment. How could she possibly tell Aldo the full story? She feared saying it aloud would send her hurtling back into the mess that she was when she found herself under the wing of Hayato.

"I made my way to mount Haguro by stowing away on trains and ships. That is where an old family friend and Samurai, Hayato trained me so I would have the tools to seek revenge."

Aldo watched her tell her tragic story from the corner of his eye. He wanted to touch her so badly, hold her, comfort her like he would his own daughter but he wad never any good at that to begin with. Aldo hates that Annabelle brings out his paternal side as during the war, he has taught himself to disconnect the Father and husband from the soldier. He feels the two merging together again which feels good but terrible all at the same time. At forty, Aldo has learned that being one person is impossible. Everyone has multiple sides to them in different situations and the greatest test is when those situations cross over. Annabelle needs Aldo to tell her everything is going to be okay as she longs for the unconditional bond her and her father never had, but both Aldo and Annabelle are too proud to take any action.

"Go and wake my boys Belle. This I'm pretty sure will be your biggest challenge." He smiles at her then strides off into the kitchen, tearing off a large chunk of bread left over from the night before, throwing it from hand to hand.

Annabelle kicked each of the Basterds in the ribs shouting "up! Aldo wants you." When all she was met with was a groan or alternatively a sharp burst of obscenity she kicked them again, the force of the kick differing from each reaction to her unwelcome wake up call. The little piece of popularity she had gained from the luxuries she gifted to them was slowly eroding as the Basterds trudged down the stairs.

"Look alive boys. We are off to the Boulogne forest today. The men up top have given me the orders to hunt a pack of Nazis on the look out for Jews hiding there. Getcha stuff we're leaving now."

With a loud "yes sir!" the Basterds and Annabelle ran like school children to gather their things for the exciting new journey. It would be Annabelle's first time seeing the Basterds at work and she was relishing the thought. Throwing off the silk gown, she pulled on her denim trousers of a muddy green and then slipped the white vest over her shoulders, rolling it over her black lace bra - one of the few items she still had from home. Annabelle fixed a belt across her body, filling it with grenades and iron swastikas, then attached her sword to another belt straddling her hips. She placed a serrated knife in her laced pirate boot and three others in more carefully concealed places and lastly she slid her arms into her thigh length pea coat, the black material nipping in at her waist. She viewed the George cross that she had sewn onto the back of her jacket in the mirror. The red of the cross had darkened to a dusty mauve and the white was more of a gray now but despite this it shone through with the spirit of the English giving her hope.

They had been walking through a wasteland of rubble for hours which had tenderised their feet and exhausted their knees. Getting to the forest, the soft mulchy forest, felt like they were walking on feathers, their calves pushing through air instead of water. Aldo walked ahead of the group with Wicki and Stiglitz who looked as if they were strategising, something Donny should have been doing as second in command but Aldo had come to accept that Donny could sometimes be more of a hindrance when the mood took him so let him walk at the back with Utivich Omar, and Hirschberg. Annabelle walked in the middle, far away enough to not have to engage in conversation but close enough to hear what she needed to. The four behind her lowered their voices to a suspicious whisper, giggling and scoffing at regular intervals. She tensed feeling hot and paranoid as she increased her speed. Donny noticed this extra jolt of power that seemed to make her so rigid as she powered up the heavily increasing slope; wondering why she was so tense. However, the thought soon left his head as he continued making fun of the girls at home and the way they pined over soldiers. The sound of their chattering made Annabelle sweat. She was convinced they were talking about her, watching her, laughing at her stiffness and cold persona. She couldn't help the way she was and the person she had become. Her blood was flying round her body at lightning speed, her patience about to snap. Annabelle twisted round abruptly, the three halting fast, staring at her angry little frame. She was parallel with Donny so looked into his face, black eyes burning and pointed.

"Why don't you be quiet you insolent wretch? Just because you are the "Bear Jew", it does not make you superior to anyone you hear?"

"Hey Belle calm down huh?" Omar said nervously.

"And you" She turned to him "are just a wing man, a silly boy, a sheep!"

Aldo, Stiglitz and Wicki had stopped, turning to face the commotion

"Shut the fuck up, there's snipers that'll hear us!" Aldo shouted disguised as a whisper.

"you two are just as dimwitted as the rest" She carried on to Hirschberg and Utivich

Aldo marched down the hill towards her whilst the others stood in shock. He pulled her by the scruff of the neck and slammed her body against a tree, his left arm pressed along her collar bones and his right hand holding her face tightly so she could not avoid his gaze.

"now I don't know what the fuck any of this is about but it's gonna stop ya hear or you'll get what's coming to ya. We got a lot more to worry about than stupid fights."

He holds her there in silence for a moment, his eyes boring into hers like a master would to a naughty pup, her breath slowing by the second.

"yes sir." She whispered.

"Psycho bitch." Donny muttered loud enough for her to hear, quiet enough for Aldo not to.

Aldo released her and she escapes to the front of the group setting the pace for a fast walk. If they had not have been talking about her before, she knew they would be now. Aldo's face could only be described as mildly vexed and for those who looked closely, a little melancholy. There was something else she had not told him about her experiences. Something terrible; but the fortress she had built around herself was like Rapunzel's tower. There were no doors or entrances, stairs or instructions; Just one window that she kept closed, never letting down her hair to anyone.


	9. Chapter 8: Dread

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

Chapter 8

17th September 1942

A gentle spit of rain tumbled from the quilted sky and onto the black truck, swelling with enemies of the state. Dieter sat in the passenger seat almost wrenching at the stink of damp bodies pilled together, his companion silently maneuvering the vehicle through the long winding roads of the Vosges Mountains. This was the part of his job that Dieter hated as they headed for the Natzweiler-Struthof concentration camp. What Dieter wanted was to hunt and seek out, be presented with a challenge and terrify anyone who did not comply with him and leave it to someone else to transport the prisoners. He thought about Hans and coveted his position, feeling both jealousy and inspiration believing one day that he too could be just like Hans; as smart as Hans. As his thoughts began to run dry, Dieter noticed his stomach begin to churn as the road became bumpy and rough. It was not terrain that he was likely to keep his stomach calm and smelling the mess coming from the containment unit behind them turned his stomach even more. Soon the gray burn became apparent on the landscape, smoke billowing in thin wisps like impossible ropes falling from heaven. Barbed wire laced the solemn circle, containing the equally gray figures that roamed the gritty wasteland. They were greeted by Major Hans Huttig: a stern looking man with a long face, nose sharp as an arrow with deep set eyes under thick brows. His hair was parted in the middle, greased down flat and shaved above his ears so that the shape of his head could be seen clearly. He was tall enough to look right into the passenger window at Dieters pale nauseous face and smirked, opening the door to reveal a stocky frame.

"You must be Major Hellstrom." He eyed the truck "And these must be a new herd." He slapped the side of the truck and shouted for it to be unloaded.  
>"Come Major; let us have a drink in my office. You are too over qualified to oversea this job."<p>

Dieter followed him towards the gray building of stone into a small cramped office, the scent of body odor lingering in the stuffy room. As Huttig slumps into the leather chair - situated behind a large oak desk laden with papers – Dieter frowns at the cluttered mass of books and maps littering the room.

"So Major Hellstrom, what is it that you are focusing on at this present time? Surely transporting prisoners is not your main job?" He sips some whisky from a glass that has been left in the office which bothered Dieter as he wondered how old it was.  
>"I am a Gestapo as you know so I deal with high profile matters that, with respect, I could not possibly discuss." Dieter laughed his fast rhythmic chuckle which infected Huttig whose harsh frown unfolded into an unnatural look of amusement.<br>"And what of these 'Basterds'? Quite a bit of trouble they have been causing eh? That Iron Maiden too. I have heard a great deal about them. Who would have guessed a mere girl could cause so much fear throughout the German army? I have heard some soldiers dreading entering the forests because of her. Fancy that?"  
>"I am sure it is just gossip and hysteria. She is as much real as the bogeyman is and frightens the soldiers like children. A vigilante. It will not be long before they are caught.<br>"Major, I am not a fool. Anyone with a reputation like that is bound to carry risk and you know it. Those officials trying to silence the spread of their reputation are running a fool's errand including you but let's not burden ourselves with such things."

Dieter could not help but feel burdened as he knew that one day she would come for him and if she had joined the Basterds, there would be no stopping her from finding and killing him. A knock at the door causes the abnormal amusement on Huttig's face to recline into the crevices of his brow. It was the driver, informing them both that the truck was unloaded and ready for departure. Dieter rose quickly from the wooden chair he had been occupying and headed for the door quickly with Huttig following closely behind. Not once did Dieter look back until he was safe in the passenger seat of the van so that he viewed Huttig from the safe proximity of the vehicle.

"Hellstrom, there is a party in Paris next week which you are welcome to attend if you are ever inclined to take a break. You simply must attend, I insist."

Dieter nods his head and signals to the driver to leave. The truck crunches on the dull gravel below and the image of Huttig fades into the distance. A party could be the exact thing he needed thought Dieter as dread began to creep into his mind.


	10. Chapter 9: Acceptance

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

Just a little drawing I created of Annabelle. This is kind of how I wanted her to be perceived. Enjoy .

22nd of September 1942

The Basterds watched as the Nazi soldiers ate, drank and conversed merrily around the fire. Like tigers they crept slowly through the undergrowth anticipating the kill being careful not to crack a twig or even breathe. Aldo ordered Stiglitz and Annabelle to move around to the outsides of the camp where they would catch and slice the necks of any absent soldiers, silently and quickly. They were the lucky ones. Annabelle's body was writhing with adrenaline driven by anger but now there was excitement as she carried out her first attack with the Basterds. She watched how gracefully Stiglitz caught the unsuspecting soldiers but with such zeal did he kill them; relishing his knife piercing their skin and tearing their insides. Annabelle preferred the clean kill her sword gave. She competed with herself trying not to get a drop of blood on her white vest. She runs like a lioness but as silently as a hummingbird's wings, powerful and light. They took their positions on the left and right of the camp opposite each other. Stiglitz nodded his blood spattered head to her and she then reciprocated the gesture towards Aldo who smiled a toothy grin. They all spring up from their hiding places and fire their machine guns like rain into the camp, mowing them down like they were ants carefully leaving two contained in the middle amongst the declining bodies, flailing for their guns knowing it would only be a moment before they too were part of the bloody carpet littering the forest floor. A silence fell broken only by the helpless whimpers of the two surviving soldiers. Wicki pulled one by the hair and dragged him to the feet of Aldo the Apache, the other forced closely behind by Stiglitz. Each Basterd stood calm and menacing showing the German soldiers that they were used to killing. This was just another day for them.

"I'm sure you German bastards already know who we are but in case you don't… I'm gonna give you an ultimatum. One that only we would give you understand?"

They nodded; one soldier slowly with a stern look of hatred plastering his face and the other consumed with fear. It was clear who was going to die today and who was getting away with the mark the Basterds gave to every surviving hostage.

"Now, both o'you is gonna give me some valuable information on where more of these Nazi holiday camps are. The soldier that gives me the most I can use will not die. You, go."

He pointed towards the quivering soldier now a pale shade of green, knuckles white from clenching. He spluttered out a few words explaining no one was left in the forest. Truthful as his answer was, Aldo was not satisfied and so he turned to the second soldier whose disposition was somewhat calmer but the intensity of anger burned in his eyes. The soldier laughed at Aldo and said:

"Whatever I tell you, all of you Jewish scum will die eventually. Killing me will no more stop Hitler than fire could stop a river flowing."  
>"As enlightening as I found that statement, your shaking friend here beatcha. I'm gonna introduce you to a little friend o' mine called the Iron Maiden. We've been dying to see her play host to you guys. Annabelle!"<p>

The soldier's face dropped to the floor like a stone, eyes clouded with dread as his confident façade crumbled. The quaking soldier was being sick beside him as Annabelle, still wielding he sword stepped from the trees. She had a line of blood spattered across her face resembling a deep cut making her look warped and ugly. She wiped the blood from her weapon with her sleeve only metres away from her kill and stopped only a few feet from him. It was only now that she really looked at his face and he hers. They both froze. The soldier began to laugh and evil, throaty laugh. Annabelle stumbled back breathing fast as if a hand had been thrust down her throat. She shook her head, tears running down her face as his laugh became uncontrollable. Her sword fell from her hand and sunk into the undergrowth and she was a child again. She had become the girl she was that night her family was killed, vulnerable, frightened and ultimately over powered. For a moment, all of the Basterds stood still confused; all looking at each other and then at Annabelle in bewilderment as she retreated to the trees. Aldo sprang forward from the log he had perched on to watch the execution and fired a single shot in the laughing man's head and then another in the frightened soldier's heart. Slowly, the Basterds gathered the valuables and artillery as Aldo pursued Annabelle in the darkness; a father finding a lost child.

Aldo found Annabelle lying flat on the ground in a particularly thick part of woodland that he struggled to get through. He was much larger than she in both height and width so the thorny bushes scraped him where she easily slid through. He stood above her head looking down at her face. Her eyes were shut, blood gone. If her chest was not rising and falling, she could have been mistaken for dead but it looked more like a coma of emotionless sleep.

"Leave me Aldo." Her voice startled him.  
>"Not until you tell me what that shit was all about."<p>

Annabelle sprung upwards and slipped out of her thorny cave onto a log that lay hard and still. Aldo battled through the tangle and seated himself next to her.

"What happened back there huh? If you are afraid of killing…"  
>"I am not afraid of killing Aldo!"<br>"Then what?"

He stood up suddenly, his loud voice echoing through the trees.

"Who was he? Talk Annabelle!"  
>"His name is Joseph Richter." Her voice began to crack "He was one of the soldiers who… How am I supposed to face them Aldo? I thought I was ready to kill them. God knows how many Nazis I've slaughtered to get here and I finally get the chance for revenge and I fail. What will I do when I see Dieter?" Her head fell into her palms.<br>"What happened that night Belle? I know there's summit you 'aint been tellin' me. Who is this Dieter?"

Aldo pulled her to his chest as she blubbered into his jacket. She squeezed his arms with her nails, pinching his skin. He pushed her to arm's length and asked her again: _"What happened that night" _and she gushed out everything. The rape, Dieter, her hurt and pain was now Aldo's burden as well as Annabelle's and anger consumed him at the thought of someone hurting his baby.

The other Basterds sat by the fire they had made near to where Aldo and Annabelle were sitting, wondering what they had been talking about, still confused by Annabelle's deterioration…

"That girl's gonna make Aldo soft" Said Donny. "It's obvious she reminds him of his kid."

Utivich nodded in approval of this statement, the others not so much as they were reluctant to speak ill of her now. They had come to realise that that she did not possess any supercilious qualities but instead she was ore troubled than they could imagine ad just as angry as they all were.

"It was strange you know? The way she reacted. I 'aint seen nothin' like that" said Utivich.  
>"He definitely knew her. It was the way he laughed that gave it away. It must have been one of the soldiers that killed her family. It was clear she had seen him before." Said Wicki<p>

They all agreed with this statement feeling sorry for her which they knew would make her angry. Then a rare sound came from beside Hirschberg as Stiglitz uttered a few words.

"Maybe we should all be nice to her from now. Or at least treat her like Basterd."

Donny felt a twang of guilt pass through him as he realised that he had been the worst towards her and egged on anyone else wanting to give her a dig. He looked at her buried in Aldo's chest and saw she was troubled enough, let alone him making it more difficult. After all, the Nazis had killed her people too and her family. And so it was resolved that she was now a Basterd like all the rest and should be treated like a Basterd. Nothing made her different, if anything her weaknesses made her one of them. After all they were all angry, all human and all in need of friends.


	11. Chapter 10: Connections

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

This is my first fan-fic Narrative.

Ok so this is starting to get really hard now! It takes such a long time to develop the middle of a story. The beginning, end and the climaxes are the only this to come… I don't really want to say easily but you know enjoy!

25th September 1942

Briget Von Hammersmark slid out of the satin black Rolls Royce onto the polished pavement in the centre of Paris. She wore a fine gown of silk, creamy coloured with a pale pink ribbon that was wide wrapping around her waist and floor lenth in the cut of a mermaid's tail. She was accompanied by a tall, young gentlemen approximately seven years her inferior but he would tell the party guests he was older than her. They entered a grand hall of yellow and white with sparkles dancing around the room from the crystal chandelier. Many important German figures were there including Joseph Goebbels and high ranking Nazi officers. Briget had made a point of befriending the political figures and Nazis soldiers to keep her in a safe position through the war. She knew that she could use her charm and beauty to tease out information from any sweaty, sexually frustrated soldier as he hoped this would make her want him. She became increasingly resentful of how Europe was developing and she hated seeing her beloved Germany become a fascist belonging of a psychotic leader.

Two officers stood to the left of the room separated from the main crowd but close enough to look like they were part of the party. One of them she did not know of and who was probably not really worth knowing and the other Colonel Hans Landa, a figure that Briget was aiming to befriend that night. She approached them both with long, graceful strides while her escort went to get a drink. Despite his good looks, Briget's escort was a simple fellow and she did not care whether he would find her again for although he was incredibly attractive, his conversation left for something to be desired. Hans turned to look at her adopting a great beam upon his face.

"Ah, Miss Hammersmark! What a pleasure to meet you. What a treat we have of being graced by your company. My name is..."  
>She interrupts his with his name and replies "I have heard a great deal of your efforts Colonel. You are very highly regarded."<br>"What an honour! And talking of reputations you must have heard of young Major Dieter Hellstrom here? He is both a fine soldier and up and coming star in the German army."

Dieter smiled nodding his head towards her, taking her hand and kissing it gently, lingering a little too long making Briget tremble ever so slightly.

"No, I have not but it is lovely to meet you Major."

Dieter looked forward to any conversation with Hans and usually would hold a great deal of contempt for anyone who interrupted these meetings but Briget was so beautiful and satisfied his longing for highly regarded company. Briget considered Dieter a good looking man with a charming mischievous face, but his sly wandering eyes and penetrating stare spoiled his good looks. She felt his gaze creeping all over her body, staying too long on certain areas but her smile still stayed plastered on her porcelain face.

"So colonel, if it is not a too personal question, may I ask what mission you are on now?"

Hans turns his head and views her from the side of his eyes.

"And what would a successful film star like you do with such boring military information?"

The last words morphing themselves into a chuckle followed by Dieters hard erratic laugh and awkward sigh from Briget. She noticed her escort helplessly wandering around until he saw someone he knew and stopped to speak.

"It is nice to have interests that extend further than the film industry Colenel."  
>"But of course Briget. I only tease! Apart from the obvious task of clearing Europe of the remaining Jews, I have been given a particularly special mission."<br>Dieter coughed nervously "Hans..."  
>"Come now Dieter! I'm sure Miss Hammersmark is trustworthy enough. What was I saying? Oh yes, the mission. I have been entrusted with the exciting pursuit of the infamous "Basterds" as they are so crudely named. Illusive they are but that is what makes the chase so much more exciting!"<p>

He laughed once more sending the other two into a fake burst of laughter. Briget wondered about the Basterds and secretly applauded them as clearly, despite his confidence, Landa was unable to catch them. Hans saw the amusement quickly dance across Briget's face. She was truly interested and not one of those fake stars who only conversed about matters above them to sound impressive. She expressed a genuine want for such knowledge, even if that knowledge was forbidden to her. Hans blossomed with intrigue at the beautiful actress as he could sense that there was a lot more he could find out about her. He could assume that she just liked the thought of these things because they thrilled her yet that would be foolish. He saw more than this and his suspicions would be confirmed eventually but just two years later.


	12. Chapter 11: Bridges

Disclaimer: All characters and themes are the product of Quentin Tarantino's genius. Any others not native to the film are my own creations that are not set out to improve upon or change an already stunning production. I only intend to quench my need for an extended version of the character's lives. The basterds originally come to France in the spring of 1944. I have brought them a little earlier. The original film remains truthful.

I have not written in months now and truly I feel incredibly guilty about leaving this story. I have been at University you see so it has been really difficult for me to find the time to write and now, just as I have a spare moment when I should probably be sleeping, I know that this is the time to get a few chapters done! Please enjoy and keep reviewing.

25th of September 1942

"Right boys and Belle: as you know we need someone to keep watch tonight as we are in a pretty hot area. I think that it is fair to say the most likely pair would be Donny and Belle but I don't want you two fightin'. I mean that now unless you wanna be the next two scalped."  
>"Sir." Donny viewed his shoes.<br>"Yes Lieutenant."

Both Annabelle and Donny were upset with the decision as spending the night awake together was a daunting prospect considering their history. The night came too fast for them and soon the black sky had signalled for the fire to be put out and the basterds be put to bed in their carefully concealed tents of wool and twigs. They had one tiny lamp between them so they would not attract attention which forced them close together. Annabelle stared into the blackness of the wood perfectly still in a solitary state of discipline. Donny fidgeted beside her trying to warm his icy hands becoming more frustrated with the overwhelming silence, just wishing that Utivich might grunt in his sleep again or Omar get up for some water. She sat like a statue with the wind making her hair the only point of movement apart from the occasional slow blink hinting at fatigue. Donny felt his eyes grow heavier as every second passed. He wanted to say something but there was nothing to say. She made him feel uncomfortable by the way she reserved herself so conspicuously. He looked at his boots. There was a mark on them that was shaped like a spider elevated like a thick splash of mud. Suddenly, it moved.

"Whoa fuck!" Donny sprang up then fell backwards onto the leafy ground onto his hind.  
>"Ssh Donny!" Annabelle whispered. He had made her jump.<br>"Hey look there was a… never mind. There 'aint no Germans out here anyway. Stop bein' so uptight."  
>"You don't know that and I'm not uptight."<br>"Sure are. You might as well have a fuckin' stick up your ass."  
>"You're so rude you know that?"<br>"and what? This is the fucking Second World War honey. There's no time for manners when everything has gone to shit." Annabelle shook her head with a false smile and stared out again into the black.  
>"Hey don't shake your head like I'm lower than you. We're all the same. If you wanna be a basterd, act like one."<br>"All the same? If we are 'all the same' as you put it then why won't you let me be silent? You have no problem letting Stiglitz be solitary so why can't I? If you hate me so much because you think I'm a snob then stay out of my way."

Her teeth were clenched shut mirroring her balled knuckles that were visibly turning white at the tension even in the dim light. Donny stared at her trying to hate what he saw but it was becoming harder and harder to hate something that never really hurt anyone – apart from Germans of course. He had got what he wanted, a broken silence but for what? She suddenly sprung up from her position startling him, patted the dirt from her legs and walked straight forward into the forest. Donny called to her in a throaty, elevated whisper _Annabelle, Annabelle! Where the fuck you going? Anna… fuck! _He followed her quickly, leaving the lamp behind squinting at the sheer blackness of the forest. His steps crunched sticks as he went, twigs scraping at his arms. He caught a glimpse of a shard of white in the darkness partially lit by the moon. He headed towards it whispering _Annabelle _until he realised the white was the flag on the back of her coat. As he neared it darted to the right behind a tree and Annabelle's harsh voice growled through the trees in a vicious whisper.

"Go back you moron! I'm trying to have a wee!"

Blushing, Donny ran back to the spot by the lamp feeling rather embarrassed at the intrusion he had made but on seeing her march back red faced and angry he had to stifle a laugh. Annabelle flopped down beside him with a sharp expulsion of air exaggerating her haughty emotion which caused Donny to snort with laughter.

"Oh Donny do be quiet."  
>"I'm sorry…" He laughed "That was just so funny!"<br>"Child..."

Donny was now in fits and Annabelle herself even began to smirk despite her repeating _it's not_ funny over and over. It was the first time she had laughed since her family were murdered and it felt good. She felt light. She felt fire. Pieces of her were coming back and the stiffness of her so often vexed face was loosening to reveal the genuine smile she used to possess so readily when she was a girl. Donny of all people had helped give that back to her.

"You know," Donny scoffed "That's the first time I have ever seen you smile. Was startin' to think you 'aint got one."  
>"I wasn't always like this you know; Miserable all the time quite the opposite actually. I was in fact a rather charming girl would you believe. In a world of men one must become a man to survive but I don't want to be a man anymore."<br>"Hey look you're out here killin' more Nazis than most men in this war, not as much as me though but still. Anyways you look like a lady and you speak like a fine one so don't you worry about that."  
>"Thank you Donny."<p>

She smiled at him now looking directly into the black pools that mirrored her own. His skin burned for a moment making him tense. Her head turned towards the forest again but he carried on staring at her. Despite the hot temper she possessed, there was something more there that he wanted to be part of. He wanted to unlock the secrets hidden away in her mind and unravel what no one else knew. She intrigued him and that was something Donny couldn't resist. Ever since he was a boy in his father's barber shop he had always been intrigued by the solitary. He loved old Mr Jenkins – who would only come in to have his beard trimmed letting the wild mane of thick brown curls go wild – because Mr Jenkins had secrets. He lived on a lonely hill in silence, shut away only coming out for his weekly trip to the barbers. To Donny, Annabelle lived in the house at the top of the hill only there for the fight before hiding again internally keeping herself company and then burdening her heart with her own secrets. He wanted to go into the house and find the treasure or monstrosity that lay within. Either way, Donny had to know. 


End file.
